


Vigil

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Everybody Lives, Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: “I’m am goin’ to give you such an earful once you’re well enough to hear it,” Faraday promises.





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kat2107](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/gifts).



> For the lovely Kat2017 on her birthday. She wanted Varaday with one party being injured and the other worrying/fussing. Hopefully I've delivered.

The stairway seems to get lengthier each time Faraday climbs it, but he’s willing to admit that may be a result of the exhaustion that’s been weighing him down for the past few evenings. A near miss with a pack of outlaws out in the wildlands had resulted in one of their own suffering an injury that had wound up getting infected, and while the fever seems to have finally broken, none of their crew has been able to focus on much while waiting to see what would happen – Faraday least of all.

He pushes open the door to the boarding house room they’ve been using as an impromptu infirmary, and Billy looks up as he comes inside. His dark eyes are as serious as ever, but there’s an element of warmth lurking in them these days that certainly hadn’t been there upon their first meeting, the trial by fire they’d gone through together in Rose Creek having admittedly formed some unlikely bonds.

“Was wondering when you’d be showing your face,” Billy says. He twists in his chair, his back cracking audibly as he shifts back and forth, stretching out joints that have locked up after too long spent in one position. “Sundown was a while ago.”

“Sam told me I wasn’t allowed back upstairs until I had a real meal in my stomach, and the other three all ganged up on me too.” Faraday considers scowling to better express how he feels about this, but truth be told he appreciates the way they care about him, even if he’s not the one in need of such fussing. He glances down at the man curled up on the bed. “How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Billy says. “A lot better. He’s slept soundly the whole time I’ve been up here, and he’s not nearly so warm to the touch anymore. It looks like Red was right and the fever’s broken.”

“Good,” Faraday says, relieved. Without thinking about it, he reaches down to pat Vasquez lightly on one shoulder, mindful not to jostle him and upset the wound adorning his right side. “It’s rest he’s needed more than anythin’. He was startin’ to worry me with all that thrashin’ he wouldn’t stop doin’.”

“Mhm,” Billy says, not bothering to note how Vasquez’s difficulty in shaking the fever that had set in with the bullet wound in his side had bothered all of them, not just Faraday. “Like I said, he seems better.”

Billy stands then, stretching some more, so much so that Faraday winces to hear all the popping sounds as he gets up. “I assume you’re staying with him now?”

“’Course,” Faraday says. He doesn’t know why Billy’s bothering to ask. It’s been him with Vasquez every night since they’d made their way into town and laid him out in the boarding house. Some of the others had been around as well during the first night, and they’ve all spent time at his side, but Faraday’s the only one who hasn’t slept anywhere else since their arrival.

However, all Billy does is nod like this is the answer he’d been expecting. “I’m going to go eat. Yell if you need something.”

Faraday waves him off with a weary hand, but his attention is back on the man sleeping in the bed before Billy’s even out of the room. He distantly registers the sound of the door opening and closing and then takes up the recently vacated chair for himself. “Hey, darlin’,” he says softly. “How’re we doin’ tonight?”

Vasquez doesn’t answer, still safely in the in the arms of slumber, and it’s real sleep thankfully, not the pale imitation he’s managed during previous nights. His skin is warm to the touch as Faraday trails a finger gently along the side of his face, albeit not as warm as it had been. Prior to tonight any contact had burned, and the few times Vasquez had been coherent enough to register it, he’d shoved the hand away with as much force as he was able.

“I’m am goin’ to give you such an earful once you’re well enough to hear it,” Faraday promises. “And then I’m going to let Sam and Jack and anyone else who wants a turn with you have a go. I don’t care how pissed you wind up by the time we’re all done, you deserve it for puttin’ us through this crap.”

Vasquez remains as quiet as ever, but he shifts minutely back and forth. Faraday goes still at the sight, not wanting to wake him, and only resumes his stroking again once Vasquez settles.

“You should’ve known to wait,” he scolds now, giving voice to something he’s kept buried while the odds of Vasquez pulling through had remained entirely up in the air. “Sam and I weren’t that far behind, and Red and Goody were only a few seconds away from bein’ in position. You didn’t need to go chargin’ in like you did; I don’t care what you say.”

What Vasquez had had to say on the matter was that the bad guys had been preparing to bolt, and he’d deliberately drawn their attention long enough to give the others time to close in. Unfortunately, he’d been bleeding quite heavily while he’d passed this information along, and Faraday himself had been less than interested in hearing it, choosing instead to focus on staunching the flow of blood slipping from the man’s gaping wound.

Alright, it hadn’t exactly been gaping, but it’d been bad enough.

“Stupid,” Faraday growls now, his voice tensing for all that his touch remains gentle and steady, “so fuckin’ stupid. If that was me who’d done that you’d have torn a strip off my hide even as I was bleedin’ out all over the goddamned ground. Y’would’ve been all ‘you’re an idiot, guero’ and ‘wasn’t being blown up enough for you, guero?’, as if I need to be reminded of that mess. That was a one-time circumstance, you bastard; we don’t do that kind of shit when we have enough time to plan properly.”

Huffing an exasperated breath out through his nose, Faraday takes a few moments to wrestle himself back under control. “It was stupid,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time, the thousandth. “It was monumentally stupid, and I expect better from you. You’re the one who’s always tellin’ me to think about what I’m doin’ before I do it. Take your own damn advice, hombre. I’ve gotten used to havin’ your sorry carcass around at this point, and I’m goin’ to be pissed if you die on me over somethin’ so idiotic.”

Faraday’s so caught up in his rant that he doesn’t register the change in Vasquez’s breathing pattern until he looks down and finds sleepy brown eyes staring up at him. He groans. “Oh come off it, I wasn’t done complainin’ yet. You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Vasquez looks exhausted, but his grin is genuine when it comes, and for the first time in days his eyes are clear rather than foggy with confusion borne from the fever that’s been plaguing him. “It’s hard to sleep when someone is making so much noise,” he says, slurring the last couple words slightly as he lets out a heavy yawn. “Why are you being so loud?”

“I’m always loud,” Faraday grumbles. “It’s part of my charm. Now hold still and let me see the mess you’ve made of yourself. It’s probably a good idea for someone to look it over while you’re awake enough to tell them how it feels.”

“Feels like it hurts,” Vasquez murmurs, wincing when Faraday pulls down the blankets covering him and lays a hand atop his bandaged side.

Shushing him softly, Faraday peels away the strips of cloth to see the wound itself. Neat, precise stitches stand out starkly against Vasquez’s skin, sealing the injury shut as the flesh knits back together. Faraday’s relieved to note that there doesn’t appear to be any seepage today.

“You look better than you did,” he says. He lets one of his fingers hover directly over the line of stiches, but refrains from actually touching. “Probably weak as a newborn kitten though. You lost a lot of blood, and then you decided to get sick on top of everythin’ else.”

“Wasn’t on purpose,” Vasquez assures him.

“I’m goin’ to assume you mean the gettin’ sick part by that,” Faraday says snidely as he wraps the bandages back up, “because the gettin’ shot part certainly seemed to be.”

Vasquez shakes his head in denial. It’s less adamant than it might normally be, but Faraday supposes they can chalk this up to lack of energy on his part. “They were going to run,” he starts, and Faraday cuts him off with a finger placed over his lips.

“No,” he says firmly. “Vas, I guarantee you if you start tryin’ to defend what you did out there, I will punch you. I might feel bad about it later because you’re already hurt, but it’s goin’ to happen, so do us both a favour and shut up.”

Vasquez rolls his eyes, but wisely decides not to press the matter. Shifting free of Faraday’s hand, he wriggles a little on the bed, as if he’s testing his limits or range of motion. “Hurts,” he says finally, and while his ire remains, Faraday does feel his stance soften somewhat.

“I know,” he says, curling a hand over Vasquez’s cheek and resuming the same stroking from earlier. “You managed to do quite the number on yourself, I’ll give you that much. It was a little touch and got there for a bit.”

“Lo siento, guero,” Vasquez says contritely. Enough that Faraday’s sure he means it.

“Don’t be sorry,” he decides, “just don’t do it again.”

Vasquez shrugs, as if to say he’s not making any promises.

Not wanting to get into an argument, which even he’s willing to admit is a rarity for him, Faraday searches for a topic that’s less fraught with emotional baggage. “Are you hungry? The kitchen’s still open as far as I’m aware, I can go dig somethin’ up for you.”

Vasquez’s brow wrinkles in obvious thought, but in the end he shakes his head. “Don’t feel hungry,” he says, “but I could maybe use a drink.”

“Hmm? Oh sure.” Faraday looks over at the small table near the head of the bed. Along with clean bandages and various other accoutrements, there’s a glass of water adorning it which has been there as long as they have, getting steadily refilled after each time it was emptied out. It’s empty now, but there’s a basin not far away, and it’s the work of a moment to fill it up again.

He turns back to Vasquez. “Think you can sit up on your own, or are you goin’ to need a hand?”

In answer, Vasquez braces his hands on the bed and attempts to leverage himself up without help. He winces almost instantly, and doesn’t quite manage to hold back a pained noise when the motion pulls at his wound.

“Alright, alright, a simple yes would have been enough,” Faraday tells him. Setting the cup down on the table, he gets an arm behind Vasquez’s back and between the two of them they get the injured man propped up against a bunch of pillows, more or less intact.

“That was unpleasant,” Vasquez grits out.

Faraday offers him the cup. “Come on, Vas, act like you’ve been shot before.”

“You are not funny, guero.” Vasquez tells him, and it’s as he reaches out a trembling hand to grasp the cup that Faraday realizes the simple act of sitting up has taken a lot out of him.

“Here, let me,” Faraday insists, and when Vasquez moves to grip the cup, he holds it up instead. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

Vasquez drinks his fill, which winds up being almost the entire cup, and then gestures weakly for Faraday to take it away.

“Tired?” Faraday asks once he’s gotten rid of the water.

“Sí,” Vasquez replies, his eyelids already drooping.

“Then let’s get you back down again so you can sleep some more.” Suiting action to words, Faraday helps Vasquez until he’s lying horizontally on the bed with the blankets pulled back up over his chest. “You need the rest.”

Vasquez murmurs something that might be agreement, although it’s too quiet for Faraday to tell. “Are you going to stay?”

“Might be I could be convinced,” Faraday tells him, grinning when Vasquez cracks one eye open to glare at him. “Of course I’m stayin’, you idiot. I don’t trust you not to up and die on us in the middle of the night if no one’s watchin’ you.”

“Feels a bit like I’m dying,” Vasquez admits, and that’s something Faraday finds he can’t take lying down.

Leaning forward he presses a kiss to Vasquez’s forehead, unspeakably relieved when it’s no warmer to the touch than it should be. “You’re not dyin’,” he says firmly. “You and the others wouldn’t let me die in Rose Creek, so now me and the others ain’t goin’ to let you die here. You got that?”

“Got it,” Vasquez agrees.

Pleased, Faraday kisses him again to show his approval. He’ll deny being so affectionate until his dying day if Vasquez has the nerve to bring it up around the rest of the boys later on, but for now he’s willing to play nice.

“Get some sleep, Vas. I’m here if you need anythin’.”


End file.
